Coitus Interruptus

I haven't quite figured out female sexuality yet. I do however have drinking down to an exact science. Being 18 is not so easy for me. I am recently graduated from High school. I thought it would mean something. But I still have too much angst. I am overdosing on pressure. I hate being so physically big yet feeling so vulnerably small and alone. My sensitive side needs to feel important and loved at all costs.

People say that we are the hope for the world and all that shit. I am not so optimistic. To tell you the truth, I feel best when I make other people upset. To make up for the lack of meaning in my life, I shotgun beers and snort the occasional line of crystal I can get my hands on. Getting alcohol and drugs is not easy in the suburbs of Pittsburgh. Everybody wants to see ID in the liquor stores and buying anything stronger than Mexican brick weed is slightly less risky than Russian roulette.

I am currently available. I need to start looking outside of town for some new pussy. I had a hot girlfriend... 16, blonde, sexy sweet. Her name was Heather. No, it really was, ugh, well I guess it still is. I am at a total loss as to what happened. It was the first time a girl not wanting to hang out actually bothered me. I think I might really be maturing. Dating anybody else so soon in this town would be a rebound - a cheap substitute. I need someone even more exotic. Or better yet I need to get her back. But she is already dating another guy!

I am not making this shit up. Heather is 5 foot 10 inches tall with no zits. She is a cheerleader who likes to party and fuck. I am 6 foot 3 inches tall and 200 pounds. I am a tight end on the football team. We seemed like a good match. Sometimes I lay awake thinking about her pussy for hours. Last season I caught a pass that put us into Districts for the first time in 5 years. I felt like a hero.

After the game Heather let me fuck her. Then we got creamed in the first round of the playoffs by East Pittsburgh. I played my hardest but we could not compete. They had more black guys than us... some even going on to play for Pitt or Penn State... so we didn't really stand a chance.

Heather broke up with me for absolutely no reason. Just a telephone call and a weak explanation that it was "her and not me". When we first started going out, Heather's old boyfriend Arthur used to follow us on our dates. He would leave love letters for her under my windshield wiper.

At first I was upset, but I decided not to beat him up. Probably because of his lonely, lost soul expression. He was like a poet or something. Heather would read the love letters to me aloud as I drove back into town, laughing. One time she gave me a blowjob right afterwards. I can remember the slurping sounds and the tingly star feeling in my belly while I tried to drive straight. I recall wishing that all the other cars could see her sucking my purple-headed monster.

Afterwards we got hamburgers and milkshakes and I took her up in the woods for a long, slow one before returning her home.

"I think it's great that you like to fuck so much," I told her, trying to cheer her up. But then she responded, "I hear that semen is good for depression." I should have known then that she wasn't into romantic love like me.

As far as I can tell, Heather has nothing to be depressed about. But she is anyway. She wants to move to California and live by the beach. Maybe because there are so many surfer dicks there to be milked for their antidepressant qualities. I told her to try Prozac but she laughed and said that her mother was on Zoloft and she walked around like a smiling somnabulist. Heather hates her mother. She seemed nice enough to me though. Well... she didn't have to work and she drove a BMW. What more could a middle-aged woman want?

I don't want to sound like a teen movie cliché, but it was now summertime not the ideal moment to be dateless. My dick was at its sexual peak and needed some female attention. But all the girls I knew who were hotties were either already taken or didn't date guys like me who wanted to fuck them all the time.

When I was fucking my Heather and staring into her pale blue eyes it was almost like everything was okay. I didn't have that uneasy feeling I normally carry with me. I don't know why God made fucking like that... sort of like a temporary answer for everything. Maybe it's because without that feeling there would be no new babies in this world. People would commit genocide on themselves.

I wondered if Heather's new boyfriend, Jacob Keckhman, felt the same way that I did when he was fucking her. He must. All men probably have the same feelings as I do deep down inside. Even Jacob Keckhman.

To make matters worse, while Jacob is fucking Heather he might be thinking of me and laughing the same way that I thought of Arthur and laughed when I was fucking Heather. That didn't seem right for him to be laughing at me like that. He didn't even know me, the prick.

I think most soccer players would probably give up a gonad to play a man's game. It's clear that soccer was made for women to play. Women are the ones who always kicking during a fight. From what Coach says... all the manly Europeans play rugby anyway... which is more like a real sport... you know... using your hands and stuff. I wonder if Jacob uses his feet when he fucks my Heather. I bet he does, the cute fuck.

These thoughts aside, it suddenly dawned on me that if I couldn't be fucking Heather than nobody else should be fucking her either. Especially not that soccer faggot Jacob. Then a nasty little seed of an idea sprouted in my mind. I thought of a way I could make it happen. I could get revenge and prevent his pork-free penis from entering my favorite pussy. I could get Jacob in trouble with Heather's parents. Maybe even get him suspended. It might make Heather desperate to return to the social stability I had given her. But is there such a thing as going too far, even to accomplish a worthwhile end?

There are strict laws for underage drinking. Even though everyone does it. And drinking plus taking ecstasy... well that's just about the worse thing that could happen to anyone. Heather's folks were really strict... and I bet they had no idea of their daughter's thirst for kosher specimens of spermatozoa. And even if being a Jew isn't as bad as it used to be, they would really change their tune once he was exposed as an ecstasy dealer. Her father was a linebacker for the Ohio State Buckeyes fer chrissakes!

Then one fateful Saturday afternoon I was hanging out with my mate Ricky Forrester. Ricky was a first-string shortstop on the baseball team. We were at the park dipping tobacco and deciding which house party to attend.

"Should we go to Moe's?" questioned the Rickster, "I hear there is gonna be lots of freshmen pootang there."

"No. I can't be bothered with freshman. I need something more exotic. Let's drive out to Lake Erie to my cousins house and go after some Indiana corn-fed pussy."

"That's too far. I gotta be back tomorrow to mow the lawn. I've been putting it off for ages and I promised."

‘Mow the lawn? Instead of getting laid? Are you fucking serious?"

"Well that's the price of living in suburbia. I need my allowance and no way am I getting a job serving fast food."

"What about going over to Nelson's then", I asked.

"No way..." replied that Rickster waiving his arms. "Heather and Jacob are gonna be there. Are you sure you want to put yourself through that torture?"

"How do you know they're gonna be there?"

"I saw Jimmy at the Mall. He said so. And they're even gonna have a deejay from Detroit."

"Detroit? That shit-hole", I thought aloud. "What's so wrong with the deejays in Pennsylvania?"

"I don't know," said the Rickster said puzzled as he shrugged his shoulders, "I think deejays in Detroit play techno, not rock."

That was the last straw for me. "No way am I going now. I am so not into that techno shit. And I can't look at the two of them together. Not now. Not ever."

"Well look," said the Rickster, "this ain't a big town. We don't have a lot of options. Why shouldn't we go to Nelson's? This is a free country. At the Nelson party there will be a few kegs as well. Moe is a cheap sonofabitch and all his parties are BYOB. My uncle Jeff is my only beer connection and he is in Chicago until next Wednesday."

I thought about it soke more. "You never know... maybe I could fight Jacob for Heather. Like in the days of chivalry."

The Rickster talked me down. "Yeah right... like you would ever fight someone who is Jewish and dating your ex. That would make you look like a racist AND a sore loser."

The Rickster was right. "Then I would definitely never get laid in this town again... except with the fat little freshman girls who would bleed all over the backseat of my fucking car."

The Rickster guffawed as the tobacco juice slid down his chin. "Huh-huh. Ouch Troy, that's brutal."

After dinner that night I met up with the Rickster and we drove to the Nelson party. I parked a few blocks away, which upset him because he doesn't like to walk more than one block at any given time. When we got to the party we paid five bucks each to cover our share the beer. The line at the keg took 15 minutes because of the freshman football idiots running the tap. I had to sort them out.

"Listen up you Wedgie!" I hollered at one of them after giving him a bruise on the arm.

"Whassup Troy?" said the Wedgie with an air of awe and respect to be in the company of graduated men.

"You gotta prime the thing like this... and then once it starts flowing fast don't let the tap stop. Just hold it there forever... or until the keg runs out."

"What if I have to go pee?" pleaded the Wedgie.

"Go in your fucking pants, Wedgie!" I retorted. "Unless you want a tittie-twister!"

"Okay," squealed the Wedgie obediently.

I made my way inside the party and the androgynous prick from Detroit was playing some god awful repetitive beat crap on the turntables. I asked if he had any Pink Floyd. He looked at me as if I asked him to play Barry Manilow.

"Oh fuck off... Pink Floyd is way better than this crap," I said as I walked away.

The deejay ignored me, the fuck. He wasn't even manly enough to play soccer. Although he probably could have been a mean Badminton player if he took off his baggy jeans and pulled his cap over his eyes. Another faggot I wanted to kill some day.

After a few hours the party was starting to kick my ass. Every time I went back to the keg I got my large red plastic cup refilled without waiting in line... maybe because I was on the football team, maybe because I was a senior, or maybe because I had shown the dumb Wedgie fucks how to use the keg.

After a while I was getting quite drunk... and without me even seeing her approaching... Heather walked past me with Jacob. She even gave me a smile. And so did he. A smile. The both of them looked drugged... intoxicated but hyper-alert. Ecstasy, I thought. Only drugs could make them cool under pressure. Either that or she felt nothing for me at all. I just couldn't accept that.

Instead of striding right past me in typical suburban "ignore-the-ex-boyfriend" mode, they actually stopped to talk to me. Heather asked me if I was excited to start college. Then that dickless asshole Jew tells me "good luck in college, Troy" without any trace of sarcasm and emoting goodwill like foamy saliva flowing from a rabid dog.

The two of them looked beautiful together and that was the worst part... they were a better couple than we had been. There was no doubt they were gonna dance for a few hours and then go upstairs and grope and do it doggy-style while I was still downstairs at the party. They were going have sex on ecstasy all night and I was going home to masturbate while trying not to puke with my head on the spin cycle.

There has to be a better alternative to all this, I thought. I am a new generation of American ingenuity at work. People like me were the only hope for the entire planet. This important Senator guy from Washington even told us so in a school speech once. I could do fucking anything I could dream!

Suddenly I let that evil thought creep back into my head. I knew there would be no going back after this one. The headlines of the Monroe Falls Dispatch would read...

But wait. That is what I wanted to happen. In fact I liked those headlines. I liked them a lot.

I spent the next hour or two talking to a tit-less and ass-less Freshman girl while watching Heather and Jacob disco dance in their socks on the large living room floor. The beer was making me feel full and heavy... ready to explode. When I saw Jacob take Heather by the hand and lead her upstairs... I got a lump in my throat that would not go away.

"Hey Rickster..." I said suddenly. "Can I borrow your cell phone?"

"Sure dude... thank God for free minutes, eh?"

"Yeah... whatever."

I disappeared into the bathroom for a few minutes and had a quick jerk thinking about Heather. Then I made the call that would change her and Jacob's life forever.

I returned to the party and handed the cell phone back to Rick. "Let's get out of here dude, I said, "I think this party is gonna get busted by the police."

The Rickster looked surprised. "What makes you say that? The Nelson's are in tight with the cops. They would never bust up a party unless someone called to complain."

I confirmed the situation. "Trust me dude, the police are coming. I just called them on your cell phone, that's how I know. No way am I gonna let Heather and Jacob fuck each other up there in that bedroom if I can help it."

The Rickster looked like a deer caught in headlights. "You busted this party... the one that we're at now?"

"Yeah weird huh... first time that's probably ever happened in the whole history of America. "

"On my cell phone? They can trace that shit you know!"

"Yeah I know," I said slowly trying to make The Rickster relax a bit. "That's why I didn't use mine. I even said I was you in case they checked. Don't worry, they won't contact you probably. If anything, this will earn you some bonus points should you ever get in trouble. You should be thanking me... not be upset."

"Troy, you are the biggest asshole I ever met! Let's get the fuck out of here."

"Okay, yeah."

We filled up our beer cups one last time and snuck behind the bushes of a neighbor's house to watch the scene unfold. As the minutes passed The Rickster became less and less upset and started giggling more and more.

"This is gonna be hilarious," he intimated.

"It's not just hilarious... it's justice," I corrected him.

Soon there were the faint sounds of sirens. My belly tingled in anticipation almost as much from the blowjobs Heather used to give me. Soon the police were scattering like swine at feeding time. Cops poured from the cars and into the yard and house and rounded everyone up. For many it was their first bust. I saw the Wedgie fuck get chased by a fat cop and ankle-tackled on the sidewalk.

"That had to hurt... it just had to..." snickered the Rickster.

The kegs were seized as evidence. The cars were impounded so nobody could drive home drunk. Then Heather came out... in a bathrobe! Finally Jacob came out too, and in handcuffs! As a bonus the deejay got his equipment impounded and all his crappy records seized as well. He started screaming and swinging at the police until they clubbed him to the ground and arrested him as well.

Later reports confirmed when the police entered the bedroom that Heather and Jacob were naked and in the actual act of copulation. A small bag of pills and another of marijuana were found in Jacob's jeans pockets. No more clean police record... no more faggot soccer player fucking my Heather... no more high times on contraband. I had performed the ultimate fuck you and it was 100% legal. I felt like waiving the fucking stars and stripes. I could have earned a D.A.R.E. Silver Star commendation for that shit if I would not be too embarrassed about collecting it and being labeled a nark.